The Sound and the Fury

Rip It Up, Issue 113, 1 December 1986, Page 2

The Sound and the Fury

When they first fooled around in an old church, lofts and hole-in-the-wall clubs six years ago in the sleepy Georgia college town of Athens, REM would have accused anyone predicting their impending greatness of mint julep-induced madness. Four albums later, they’re surveying the simultaneously scary and seductive plateau of mainstream “rock-star” status. Over beers (Mexican), pizza (Canadian ham)

REMedial Reading

and coke (liquid) on one of those sweltering summer afternoons that has crippled Southern farm l ing, REM’s guitarist Peter Buck and bassist Mike Mills reflected on life and how they live it. Their self-portrait paints a band fully aware of their own ability;but still ambivalent about the prospect of a big-league success measured in money. “We’ve always wanted a gold record, but I want them to just give it to me,” says Buck, “I couldn’t

make a record to be a hit. Just seems logical that if you put out enough good records, people will buy enough to get you a gold one. If we don’t get one now, it’s not going to change the way we make records or write songs. I’m making a good living without it; there’s only so much money you can spend, and I’d rather make good records first.”

“The important thing is that people who hear it like it,” adds Mike Mills. “The advantage of not being big because of one radio hit is that people like you for everything you’ve done.”

Murmur In REM’s case, that means an underground hit EP Chronic Town, followed by albums Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction and the current Lifes Rich Pageant. Each has sold more than its predecessor and each has covered a wide enough sonic canvas to render the phrase “typical REM record” meaningless. The tag of “moody art-rock band” is now about as accurate as the flat earth theory. Gone are the days of “the only band that mutters,” when singer/lyricist Michael Stipe would intone indecipherably over an equally murky production sound. Now you can hear Mr (Into the Mystic) Stipe’s vocals clearly, even if an exact understanding of what he’s singing about often remains as elusive as a hound on speed. And the band is clearly tired of the bores who keep on trying to find the meaning of life in a four minute REM song. “People tend to think we’re a lot more intellectual in the way we go about making music than we really are,” says Buck. “Reviews seem to say we’re artists, we have concepts, and the music is made is made to fit.

“That’s not true. We’re a rock ’n’ roll band, we make music first. It may be slightly more intelligent and aware than other music you hear on the radio, but it is certainly not an artistic endeavour. We have a lot more in common with Chuck Berry than John Cage." The folkie feel of 1985’s Fables of the Reconstruction (“It was a bit disjointed” — Mills) is replaced by a rockier sound on Pageant, courtesy of John Cougar Mellencamp’s producer, Don Gehman.

Buck: “We wanted to make a rock ’n’ roll record, something a bit more fun. Our records have been moody and a bit undisciplined, and we wanted to make something enjoyable to make, play, and listen to. We liked the way the Cougar records sounded — we thought Don could do rock ’n’ roll without turning it into a Huey Lewis or Journey record!

“If the record weren’t so good, I think lots of people would scream sell-out because we used Don. I don’t give a damn that he produced Cou-

gar. He’s a great guy, great producer and he was someone out to get the best we could sound, not to add to his own stamp.”

Humour Aligned with the spirit of Lifes Rich Pageant is a sense of fun exemplified by the frivolous ‘Underneath the Bunker; a cover of 60s trash song ‘Superman,’ and even the title, a line from Inspector Clouseau/Peter Sellers.

“Some people really miss the sense of humour in what we do,” says Mills. “They go ‘it’s all so mystical.’ We don’t want people to think we sit around darkened rooms with incense.”

REM in concert are definitely not yer average doom ’n’ gloom merchants. Shows this writer has caught have included covers of dumb pop classics like ‘King of the Road,’ ‘ln the Year 2525’ and ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight.’ ‘We’ve got a whole list of horrible covers we do on the spur of the moment,” says Buck, “but I’m not interested in doing other people’s songs in a serious way.”

For kicks, Buck, Mills and Berry (along with Werewolf Warren Zevon and Athens singer Bryan Cook) are also the Hindu Love Gods. “We do a lot of Troggs songs, bubblegum, Jason and the Scorchers — three chord stuff.” A Hindu Love Gods single, ‘Gonna Have A Good Time Tonight’ (an Easybeats song!) has been released on IRS. This is a trio of fun-loving Southerners — Berry loves fishing and golfing, Mills is a baseball nut, while Buck prefers to avoid the sun by reading, bowling and playing the guitar. Michael Stipe is much more of the serious artist persuasion, painting, taking photos, making impressionistic videos and singing with avant-garders the Golden Palomonos.

Reticent of interviews, he comes across as a David Byrne type. Not someone you’d invite to liven up your party, but a man with a distinctive world-view and a vocal style to match.

Fervour Like Byrne, Stipe possesses a compassionate humanism that renders his seemingly wilful opacity tolerable. Pageant reflects a real ecological concern via songs like ‘Fall On Me’ (acid rain) and Cuyahoga (about the polluted river that burned), while ‘These Days’ admirable positivism — “we are hope, despite the times.”

“Yes, this is a real topical record for us, but we try to be subtle” says Mills. “I resent musicians giving their political attitudes; generally they are not the best-informed people in the world.” A reluctance to jump on the benefit bandwagon is common with most new Southern bands. Peter Buck: “We do benefits, we just don’t send

press releases out about them. We’ve been members of Amnesty for three years, but 90 percent of those bands on their shows did it for their careers. That stuff bothers me a lot.”

The popularity and innovations of REM mean the band finds itself hatching hordes of imitators. Instead of inspiring young bands to develop their own sound, REM are role models for repetition. “I guess I do hear bands that sound a bit like us” says Buck.‘‘They take one aspect of what we do and do it forever. That formula has gotten kind of old to a lot of people, including me. I don’t want to make a record with just one sound, one idea. In a way, I’m glad we’re pushed into the position where we have to top ourselves or people who make a similar sound.”

Mills: “If bands like it so much, then that’s what they want to do. Sometimes imitators go farther than the originals.” Well, is there such a thing as a Southern sound? Are you affected by the area? “Hey, I liked Lynyrd Skynyrd, but I never thought ‘let’s be a Southern band’, ” says Buck. “I don’t

think we really reflect the South as a place I don't feel a Southern man. Southern-ness is ameliorated by the real world.” Mills isn’t as skeptical. “Sure, we’d sound different if we came from Ohio. It is hard to make a sound reflect a place unless its real kitschy, but it comes up in Michael’s lyrics. The South is a slower, more reflective place where you’re very aware of your past, and his lyrics have a certain wistful quality.”

Southern writer William Price Fox sums it up neatly. “Northerners want sense, Southerners want sound.”

Mike Mills and Bill Berry lived in the heart of Southern rock, Macon Ga., in its heyday a decade ago. “Bill worked for a booking agency that handled the Capricorn bands, and I saw my share of Molly Hatchet’; recalls Mills.

“I enjoyed that stuff, but it did perpetuate that bad image of the South as a bunch of boozers blowing their pay-cheques on beer. We enjoyed shattering that stereotype of Southerners.” Kerry Doole